


Cultural Norms

by alicedragons



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Alternate Universe - Underswap, Animal Death, Broken Bones, Cultural Differences, Fluff, M/M, Mentioned animal slaughter, Mild Angst, Monster Edge, Villager Rus, animal skinning, cultural barriers, language barriers, non-graphic animal death, non-graphic injury, the village au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 06:39:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15189002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicedragons/pseuds/alicedragons
Summary: Curiosity had led him this deep into the woods—he may as well satisfy it, since he was still alive.The Villagers say the creatures who lurk in the forest are savages, beasts,monsters--draped in red cloth. Red. The colour of danger. The forbidden colour.Then again, what do the Villagers know?





	Cultural Norms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CheapBourbon (blank_ghost)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blank_ghost/gifts).



> Based on the AU by [Cheapbourbon](http://cheapbourbon.tumblr.com/). See some of their headcanons for it [here](http://cheapbourbon.tumblr.com/post/174390789819/pssst-bourbon-plz-share-any) and some of their lovely art [here](http://cheapbourbon.tumblr.com/post/174314586879/the-village-au-aka-when-you-find-out-the).
> 
> I'd also recommend taking a look at the fics for this AU by [Askellie](https://askellie.tumblr.com/post/174528670371/fic-silence-of-the-lamb-that-papyrus-should-have) (read the tags), and [Sansy-Fresh](https://sansy-fresh.tumblr.com/post/174836537391/dried-venison).
> 
> Make sure you read the tags for this one if you're afraid of triggers. It's mostly fluffy, but there are certain themes that people may find upsetting. There is also some initial fear of impending death (you know, the usual).

Were he in any condition to fight back, he might have tried.

As it was, however, Rus’s leg was very broken. And in fact, he wasn’t confident he’d be able to ward off a creature like this on his best day. The strength the monster possessed spoke for itself—it lifted Rus from the forest floor with ease ( ~~and surprising tenderness~~ ), and its stride was barely hindered by his weight. Leaves and brush clung to Rus’s cloak—and he clung to the monster, wincing through the unbelievable pain in his leg.

The walk wasn’t long. Rus had managed to stumble right across the creature’s territory (to his misfortune). They arrived at a secluded grove, and Rus noted the silence, filled only by the wind. There were no other animals here, only foliage and eerie quiet.

The monster pushed aside a curtain of branches and threaded vines, tucked into a corner of the clearing. The ground dipped into darkness. Rus could only see a foot ahead as the monster carried him down beneath the ground. Strange, he thought, that the darkness still frightened him, when fear itself had him in its grip.

His eyes slowly adapted to the dim lighting, and he found they’d reached the base of the short tunnel. The cave was small, barely a few square feet in size. Tucked against the far wall was a nest of sorts, built from twigs and underbrush, the same brown-orange as the forest above—and cloth, danger red. Odd trinkets had been stacked neatly beside the nest; coins, forks and spoons, old pieces of jewellery, a few painted stones Rus used to buy from the Village markets, and a worn book.

And right near the entrance of what Rus now came to realise was the creature’s dwelling—weapons. Hunting knives, spears, a heavy wooden club, pieces of flint. Rus tried not to focus on those. It brought him mild relief when the creature passed them, instead setting Rus inside the nest. Rus found the delicacy with which it treated him astounding—was it soothing its prey? Rus had heard that the happiest cow tasted best when slaughtered.

After arranging Rus comfortably in the nest, the creature reached for his wounded leg. Rus inhaled sharply and angled himself away—not that it was much use; the creature could have set him on his feet and bid him on his way and Rus’s predicament would have remained the same. He couldn’t stand. His leg wouldn’t support him. He was—well and truly—at the creature’s utter mercy.

And maybe the Fates were feeling kind and had led Rus to the territory of a benevolent monster—because at Rus’s fright, the creature hesitated, hand outstretched. The sharp mask over its face hid all emotion, but Rus could feel it watching him. In the gloom of the musty cave, Rus noticed for the first time a set of red pinpricks of light beneath the creature’s mask.

_Its eyes,_ he realised. _The same forbidden red as its cloak._

He swallowed and inched away, for all the good it did him. The creature tilted its head, curious, then backed away. Rus sagged with relief at the moment of respite. He followed the creature’s movements as it crossed the cave… and began to dig through its weapons.

Oh.

He’d upset it. It was going to punish him for being noncompliant. He watched it with a lump in the back of his throat and a heavy soul. His demise had always been inevitable, he supposed. He only hoped the creature didn’t like prolonging its prey’s suffering, as Rus had seen with some of the Village boys when they caught small animals or insects. He didn’t much fancy having his limbs torn off.

The monster seemed somehow more immense when it stood again; the spines protruding from its back looked sharper, and the expressionless mask fiercer in the faded light. It was holding a long wooden stake—an odd choice of weapon, Rus thought. It wasn’t even sharp.

Perhaps it was the depraved type, then.

Rus cradled himself instinctively, as if his brittle arms might somehow be able to protect the important bits of him from harm. The creature crouched beside him and surveyed his body, its gaze resting on his leg. Rus tensed when it placed its hand on his injured tibia, an agonised hiss escaping through his teeth.

But the creature’s touch was light, bearing no ill intent. (For now, at least).

It tugged the hem of his pants up to his knee. The bone splintered, and was broken in two places—it was worse than Rus had thought. He closed his sockets, holding his breath in dread. He choked back a whimper at the sound of tearing, but he didn’t dare open his eyes. His leg was lifted and held steady. The pain brought forth tears, and he bit down hard.

When Rus finally dared to crack open a socket, the creature was gone. He saw a flicker of red vanishing up the cave tunnel, then looked down at his leg. The ‘stake’ had been bound to his tibia with a shred of red cloth, securing the bone in place. Rus stared at the makeshift support, bewildered and suspicious. He cast another glance at the cave entrance, but the creature made no appearance.

It had left him here… did that mean he was free? Hardly, Rus thought, with a bemused look at his leg. He was still pitifully incapacitated. For the moment, it seemed, he was expected to lie here. There wasn’t much else he was capable of.

He shifted himself deeper into the nest, settling into the thick shrubs. It was comfortable—if a little prickly. Now that the adrenaline had faded, he felt exhaustion creeping up on him. Sleep seemed absurd in a place like this. Rus was a prisoner here—at best. He still wasn’t convinced the creature wasn’t saving him for breakfast. Though letting your food into your bed was… a strange gesture.

Food or not—Rus figured he was about as useful in a fight asleep as he was awake. He settled back into the nest, and in time managed to calm the throbbing of his soul enough to slip into unconsciousness.

 

Footsteps awoke him. The cave was dimmer than it had been before, the sunlight that had trickled through the roof earlier, now absent. When Rus’s eyes became accustomed, the first thing he saw was red. His instincts flared and he tried to move, startled. A shooting pain through his leg reminded him of his injury, and he fell back in defeat.

Rus’s soul pulsed with terror as the creature approached him. It was carrying something. Rus’s sharp intake of breath stirred the silence as he saw what it was—a dead rabbit, nothing more. But, it unsettled him.

Rus had seen dead animals before—of course he had. But never this fresh. And never this close. Only at the butcher or on the dinner table. This one was… still bleeding.

The monster sat against the wall beside its weapons stash. It picked up a knife with a curved blade; Rus recognised it as a skinning knife. He’d seen one somewhere before—not in the Village, certainly not. He wasn’t allowed near the weapons. But someone had shown one to him once—to scare him, probably. He’d never been fond of knives.

Well, he was certainly afraid now. The creature dug the point of the knife into the rabbit’s skin and—

Rus looked away, snapping his sockets shut. He could hear the sounds though. A ripping noise, oddly like the tearing of cloth he’d heard earlier. He could taste bile.

He didn’t look back until he heard the striking of stone against stone. The creature was starting a fire—a small one, warded by a ring of pebbles. It skewered the now skinless rabbit and held it over the fire, turning it intermittently to roast it. The cave filled with warmth—not unpleasant warmth. Comfortable warmth, in fact, countering the chill of the night.

Yet in Rus’s bones, a non-physical chill lingered. The creature would look up at him occasionally, cinders spitting up from the fire and dancing across its mask. Yet even through the flames, Rus could see the red of its eyes, lingering on him; piercing points of light. Instinct told him he ought to look away—avert his gaze, submit. But Rus watched the creature in return. He couldn’t resist his own fascination with it. Curiosity had led him this deep into the woods—he may as well satisfy it, since he was still alive.

Once the creature deemed the rabbit sufficiently cooked, it lifted it from the fire, stifling the already dying flames with heavy rocks. Then it approached Rus. He inched back, watching it closely, but it kept its distance this time. It lowered itself to the ground beside the nest, never taking its eyes off Rus. It considered him, then slowly extended the cooked rabbit—an offering.

Hesitantly, Rus accepted it, and the creature watched him intently. It was waiting for him to eat, Rus realised. He cautiously took a small bite of the rabbit, fighting his own gag reflex. He hardly wanted to offend the monster, lest he incur its wrath. He chewed deliberately, then forced himself to swallow. The creature watched him, and for its lack of expression, it looked rather anticipant. Uncertain how to express his gratitude, Rus nodded, hoping that was sufficient.

The creature just stared at him, waiting. Clearly not sufficient then. Rus took another bite, then another. The creature seemed content to watch him eat, observing him keenly. About halfway, Rus decided he couldn’t stomach any more rabbit. Unsure what passed as acceptable in the monster’s culture, Rus tentatively offered the creature the half-eaten rabbit.

It drew back, tilting its head in apparent surprise.

Ah. Not quite the right approach then. Well, it didn’t seem upset, which Rus took as a victory. Trying to project benevolence, he smiled, giving it a slow nod. Cautiously, the creature accepted the rabbit. It took the stick, then retreated to its stack of trinkets and turned its face away. Rus watched curiously as it removed its mask and placed it on the ground. It angled its body away from him, obscuring its face. It pulled up its hood before it began to devour the meat. It ate quietly, which came as a surprise. Rus wasn’t sure why he’d been expecting savage growls and the messy tearing of flesh.

The monster barely left a shred of meat on the bone. What was left of the carcass was discarded in a pile near the cave’s entrance. Rus noted the absence of other bones, and wondered idly what the monster normally did with the leftovers.

It placed its mask back over its face before turning back to look at Rus. It came to crouch beside him again, reaching into its cloak to withdraw a waterskin. It held it to Rus’s mouth and tipped it, lifting his chin with two gloved fingers. The water was tepid, but refreshing, trickling through Rus and quenching his soul.

After returning the skin to its cloak, the monster began to gather drapes of torn cloth from around the cave—all matching the red of its cloak. A small warning bell echoed in the back of Rus’s mind. This creature already had a cloak—and the cloth it was gathering looked worn, but not old. Not old enough, anyway. Rus pondered the source. A question for another time, he supposed. Or perhaps one he ought to avoid entirely. His mind wandered back to the eerie silence outside.

Once it seemed satisfied with its supply of cloth, the creature carefully draped the garments over Rus, tucking them beneath him and bundling him up tightly. Rus observed the gesture mildly. He had few lingering fears of the creature’s intentions for him. Unless the typical method for slaughtering one’s prey differed wildly from his own in this creature’s culture, Rus could be certain he was not going to be eaten.

After—well—putting him to bed (Rus wasn’t sure what else he could call it), the creature crossed the cave and moved a hanging shroud of branches and leaf matter across the cave’s entrance, shielding it from the tunnel above. Rus watched, intrigued, as it wandered the room— _tidying._ It restacked its valuables and reorganised its weapons. It was almost amusing, watching the unexpectedly tame beast fuss over the way its crude dwelling was organised.

It went on for quite some time, and Rus began to doze as he watched it. His mind was yanked sharply back to reality when he felt a weight settle into the nest beside him—then shift _on top of him._

He made an undignified noise of surprise, sockets flying open, wide with shock. No, his weary mind had not betrayed him. The creature had settled on top of him, its chest pressed down on his own, its head resting on the thick foliage of the nest beside him. And judging by the relaxed weight of the monster’s body against him, it deemed this to be entirely _normal_.

It lifted its head in response to the tension that must have translated through Rus’s body. Oh. Goodness. It was so close. Its deep crimson— _danger red_ —eyes bored into Rus, steady and expectant. This close, its scent was stronger too—dirt, souring magic, and the sharp scent of blood. Rus looked up at it, stunned into silence. When it didn’t move, Rus pushed it gently, trying to budge it.

He felt the tremor of the deep growl that rumbled through the monster’s chest, and froze. The red eyes behind its mask narrowed. Clearly, this was where it would remain. Rus lay back in reluctant concession, troubled. The creature was still watching him; he could feel, more than see it. Turning his head to the side, Rus shut his eyes, losing his nerve. He couldn’t look at the creature anymore—at the mask and the eyes. At the _red._

With the monster securely draped over him, Rus fell into an uneasy sleep.

 

Rus dreamt a lot, and seldom pleasantly. Tonight was no different. He was stumbling through the trees, shadows with sharp red eyes clawing at him. Their fingers cut through his bone and tore at his chest until they found his soul.

His body felt heavy. He couldn’t move. His leg throbbed.

Something was pressing against his chest. Something big. He gasped for air—

And awoke.

His face was wet. He was crying. Something was touching him. Gently. Kindly.

But shock penetrated Rus’s mind before rationality did, and he pulled away with a sleep-heavy cry. Pain lanced through his leg and he whimpered weakly. The weight hadn’t left his chest, resting across the length of his entire body. He felt it shift, and he dared to open his eyes.

Red.

It was the first thing he saw. The fierce points of light of the monster’s eyes. Only now… there was no mask.

Through the darkness, Rus could see the flat planes of the monster’s face. Smooth, white bone—not unlike his own, if a little more weathered. Much like those of the mask, its— _his?—_ teeth were jagged and sharp. And oddly, the creature’s face was as expressionless as his mask.

But most alarming—this monster was a _Villager._ But. No, he _wasn’t_ a Villager. He certainly looked like one, though. More so than a savage beast, in any case. Rus caught himself gaping, but he couldn’t seem to stop. In some roundabout way, this only deepened the intrigue of the monster.

The creature lifted his hand and carefully removed his red glove. Beneath, his hands may have been identical to Rus’s were the tips of his fingers not sharpened to points. He studied Rus, his face somehow both impassive and curious. He touched Rus’s cheekbone and ran his finger through the tear tracks that stained the bone, fascinated.

Still shaken by the nightmare, another hitched breath heaved Rus’s chest. The creature stilled, his fingers resting on Rus’s face. He appeared confused by Rus’s behaviour, watching him with interest and bewilderment. Rus only stared at him in return, equally intrigued.

Without taking his eyes off Rus, the monster got up and crossed the cave, searching through his trinkets. He emerged with a chain in hand—a piece of jewellery, Rus presumed. Long lost and forgotten. The metal was old and rusted, though the gold jewel hanging at the base remained untarnished. A valuable item, then.

The monster came to kneel beside Rus in the nest, holding the chain in both hands—presenting it to Rus. Slowly, Rus took it, holding it in his palm. He was uncertain what the creature expected him to do with it, but he was watching him expectantly. Experimentally, Rus lifted the chain over his head and lowered it so that it hung around his neck.

Understanding crossed the creature’s expression. His eyes lingered on the chain around Rus’s neck, and something deepened in his eyes.

Rus touched the jewel set into the chain and swallowed. “thank you,” he whispered, and the creature tilted his head. Rus knew he didn’t understand him, but the gratitude felt necessary. He recalled the way the creature had so fastidiously organised his possessions—this was no small gift.

The creature appeared satisfied with Rus’s acceptance of his gift. He reached out—and this time, Rus managed not to flinch. Carefully, he arranged Rus more comfortably into the nest, repositioning the blanket of cloaks over him. Then, he climbed back on top of Rus and settled easily against him.

The gesture was still a little alarming—but there was something endearing about it now, too, Rus decided. At the very least, he felt secure beneath the monster. Protected. The contrast to his prior terror was almost amusing.

The monster found sleep sooner than Rus did, his chest heaving against Rus’s as his breaths deepened. Rus lay awake, but not ill at ease. When he’d awoken this morning, he hadn’t expected to be surrounded in red.

Red. The colour of fear and distress. It hardly felt that way now. Warmth, perhaps, or security. But Rus wasn’t afraid. He turned his head to watch his ~~captor~~ … friend, sleep.

And when Rus was completely certain the monster wouldn’t wake, he carefully wiggled his arm loose, and wrapped it safely around him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Sincognito](http://sincognito.tumblr.com/) for the adorable 'Edge sleeps on top of Rus to keep him safe' headcanon. I just couldn't resist it.
> 
> I'm also on tumblr at [alicedragons](https://alicedragons.tumblr.com/) and [dragonfics](https://dragonfics.tumblr.com/) if you're interested. (NSFW blogs, so please be over 18 if you follow).


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